The beautiful installation called Palmsonntag (Palm Sunday), by German painter and sculptor Anselm Kiefer, is the most brilliant, deeply original Christian artwork I have ever seen on display at the Art Gallery of Ontario. Readers interested in art should catch this show before it leaves Toronto on Aug. 1

Like some Baroque depiction of a saint’s martyrdom, Palm Sunday refers immediately to an occasion that lies largely beyond the margins of the work, in this case the liturgy for the Sunday before Easter.

The rage that has greeted recent allegations of sex-abuse cover-ups and foot-dragging by the Catholic hierarchy comes, at least in part, from genuine compassion for the victims. This righteous anger, expressed in countless newspaper columns and blogs (Christian and secular) over the last few weeks, is something Catholics at every level of the Church should take seriously. Because it comes from a good place — outrage on behalf of the wounded and defiled — it can be a healing wrath and welcome judgment, summoning all Catholics, not just the clergy and hierarchy, to repentance and spiritual revival.

But another kind of anger, arising from a dark, hate-filled place in modern culture, has been evident as well. It’s not the whole story, but it’s an important aspect of what’s unfolding in the present moment’s sound and fury. I am speaking of the vengeful drive by some commentators to bring down the Catholic Church completely — the visible institution, of course, but also its mission of announcing the Kingdom of God.

For most Canadians, I suspect, the alleged activities of the Michigan-based Hutaree militia amount to little more than fresh evidence of the occasional craziness we’ve come to expect from Canada’s neighbour to the south.

Almost exactly seven years ago, in April 2000, I was sent by the newspaper I worked for to Columbine, Colorado, to report on the first anniversary of the high-school shooting rampage that left 12 students and a teacher dead and 23 people injured. It was a harrowing assignment. I found the citizens of this affluent Denver suburb of high earners and hard workers still in shock, battering themselves and each other with the inevitable question: Why?

Long before the execution of Saddam Hussein in late December, the world had come to understand clearly the character and career of the former Iraqi dictator. He was a man of blood in the baleful tradition of earlier strong men in the modern era: murderous and cruel, vengeful, suspicious and infinitely jealous. He meted out terror and torture to his real or imagined enemies, and corrupted his society with the constant threat of violence. For the countless crimes they committed, Saddam and his henchmen deserved severe and lasting punishment.

The incident in Pope Benedict XVI's recent trip to Turkey that got the most vivid press coverage was his silent prayer, facing Mecca, in Istanbul's Blue Mosque. Given the vehement criticism and controversy that have dogged the Pope's steps ever since his remarks on Islam at Regensburg, such attention was probably inevitable.

Daniel Libeskind’s $135-million addition to the Royal Ontario Museum , which opened earlier this month at the corner of University Avenue and Bloor Street West, is the most controversial architectural project ever to go up in Toronto. It has set critic against critic, sharply divided the architectural community and provoked some praise and a great deal of condemnation from citizens.

The campaigns that precede U.S. general elections are always wonderful events. Speeches ring with high melodrama and gaudy patriotism, every pundit with anything to say (and many with nothing to say) are continuously paraded in front of television's bright lights. Accusations of villainy fly from every corner, and every candidate presents himself or herself as the saviour of a nation descending into ruin.

Public protests against globalization — vociferous, often tumultuous affairs — gained momentum from the mid-1990s onward, peaking around the turn of the new millennium. Then, for reasons that are imperfectly understood, the potential Great Cause of a generation of young activists simply fizzled.

I have lately taken to reading about God’s holy ones, as we find their doings and sayings condensed and compiled in such compendia as Butler’s Lives of the Saints and The Oxford Books of Saints. It’s an activity I can recommend to anyone who wants to broaden his or her understanding of God’s wonderful work in transfiguring and renewing human life. It is also fascinating to visit far-distant Christians (and not so distant ones) and get a sense of their struggles — which are often quite similar to the ones we face in modern times.